


Fly High

by Marks



Category: Bruno and Boots (Movies), Macdonald Hall - Gordon Korman
Genre: Crushes, Did I mention pining?, Humor, M/M, Pining, Volleyball, Yuletide, Yuletide 2017
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-21
Updated: 2017-12-21
Packaged: 2019-02-18 04:12:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13092153
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Marks/pseuds/Marks
Summary: What do you mean Macdonald Hall isn't a shonen sports series?OR: The one where Boots makes Bruno join the volleyball team.





	Fly High

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Beltenebra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Beltenebra/gifts).



> This is just a little treat for you, Beltenebra! Many, many of the things you like are things that I like, so I couldn't help cramming as many as I could in there. Happy Yuletide!! ♥
> 
> Anyway, this is modernized and Miss Scrimmage's is the wellness center version, so the fic is definitely more based on the movies, but I've read all the books many times and I'm pretty sure there's plenty here for the traditional Gordon Korman fan, too.

Bruno stabbed at his dinner. That wasn’t an exaggeration; he actually stabbed at it because he wasn’t totally sure it was dead. Thanks, Mac Hall cafeteria! He was mulling over what Boots had just said to him, which had been sensible because everything Boots said was a little bit sensible. You didn’t name a kid Melvin and wind up with someone who wasn’t at least twenty-five percent sensible. That was how genetics worked, right?

“How many sports do you play again?” Bruno asked, giving the grey blob on his plate one more good forking before giving up and stealing Boots’s bread.

“Hey,” protested Boots, taking back half. “Eight. Swimming, baseball, hockey, track and field, tennis, lacrosse, curling, and volleyball.”

“We have a curling team?” Bruno asked.

“Yeah, and they have plenty of members.” Boots shoved the rest of his bread into his mouth, which was a good idea because Bruno was still trying to steal it out of his hands, but a bad idea because he was still talking. “I onwy nee oo fo vowyvoll.” He swallowed. “Sorry. I only need you for volleyball. The team doesn’t get funding next year if we don’t have at least ten players this year, and we only have four right now, including me. I’m the captain so I feel kind of responsible for the rest of the guys. Which is where you come in— and the rest of our friends, if I can convince them, too.”

“Right. So volleyball. That one has a… net?”

Boots sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, right between his eyebrows. Bruno called that move The Bruno Special because he made Boots do it so often. Actually, there were at least two more moves Bruno wanted to call The Bruno Special, but Boots hadn’t done those before, at least not to Bruno. And if he’d done them to anyone else, Bruno didn’t want to know about it.

In fact, just thinking about Boots doing The Bruno Special to anyone other than Bruno made Bruno’s stomach tight and his head hurt. This was a pretty new development; they’d shared a dorm at the Hall their entire time there, other than the separation incident that they no longer spoke of, and Bruno caught Boots in various states of undress dozens of times. The dorm rooms just weren’t that big and also Bruno was kind of bad at knocking. Until a couple of months ago, seeing Boots’s bare ass was just hilarious because Boots could shriek like nobody’s business. But the last time it had happened, Bruno’s mouth went dry, like he was thirsty, and then it started watering, like he was hungry, and it all left him very confused.

Since then, Bruno had noticed lots of things about Boots, like how much taller he was and how his hair looked soft enough to run his fingers through. Boots had wide blue eyes, which were like limpid pools that Bruno could drown in. At least he thought so — Bruno wasn’t totally sure what limpid meant. Super? Did it mean super? Super blue? Boots’s eyes were super- _duper_ blue, and Bruno was screwed.

Which was how Bruno wound up joining the Macdonald Hall volleyball team, even though he was still only mostly sure that it was one of the sports with a net.

*

Bruno and Boots were crowded up on Boots’s bed with Bruno’s laptop balanced on both their legs. To achieve this, Bruno had to have his thigh pressed right against Boots’s and the result was great and torture all at once. Great torture felt like an oxymoron. Bruno felt like an oxymoron, too.

“This is a cool play,” Boots said, pointing to the tiny men running around the screen. They were watching two universities play a volleyball match against each other. Bruno couldn’t say which schools they were because if schools weren’t called Macdonald Hall or Miss Scrimmage’s Academy for Girls Education and Awakening, then Bruno Walton didn’t think their names were worth remembering. One of the tiny men did something Bruno couldn’t see, then another tiny man jumped high in the air, and then the volleyball was on the other side and everyone on the first side was cheering.

“Did they win?” Bruno asked.

“Well, they won a point,” Boots said. “You need a lot of those to win a set.”

The tiny men ran around some more, often jumping one way or the other. Bruno started out mostly watching their tiny bare legs – they were very muscular and Bruno could appreciate that aesthetically – but eventually, he started getting used to the rhythm of the game and could see the ball as it flew from one side of the court to the other.

Boots got really into explaining what all the positions were, speaking animatedly and waving his hands the same way Bruno did when he hatched one of his plans. Bruno found his attention torn between appreciating Boots’s moving mouth and admiring his enthusiasm. It was adorable. In fact, it made Bruno want to put his moving mouth right on Boots’s moving mouth.

“You really like volleyball, don’t you?” Bruno asked.

“Well, yeah,” Boots said, looking over at Bruno. “That’s why I asked you to join the team. I wouldn’t make you do something I expected you to hate.”

Bruno grinned. “Why not? I make you do things you hate all the time.”

Boots opened and closed his mouth. “That’s different,” he said after a moment, but offered no other explanation. Then he directed his attention back to the screen. “Look, Bruno! You can’t miss this.”

One of the players – the setter, Bruno remembered that now – tossed the ball behind his head and the player behind him ran out of nowhere to jump and spike it down. The next thing Bruno knew, all the guys on the spiking team were screaming and running at each other, and all the guys on the other team looked stunned and sad.

“Oh, did they win _now_?” Bruno asked.

Boots laughed. “Yeah, they won now.”

“Go, Sports Team!” Bruno said and Boots laughed again.

The jumper-spiker team were in a giant pile of limbs, all huggy and sweaty and very close to each other. When they finally separated, there was an awful lot of ass-patting all around.

“Is that – is that usually what happens when a team wins?” Bruno asked, eyes wide as he stared at the scene. He pictured himself winning for Mac Hall and Boots tackling him to the ground after. Maybe Bruno would put his hand on Boots’s ass.

“Hmm?” Boots said. “Oh, the group hug? Yeah, usually. It’s all enthusiasm and male camaraderie. You know how it is.”

“Male camaraderie, right. Cool,” Bruno said. “Cool cool cool cool cool cool cool.”

*

The volleyball ‘team’ was a bit of an exaggeration, as it turned out. Sure, Boots seemed to have a good handle on the rules and the positions and how points could theoretically be scored, but it looked like he was the only one, even including the three guys who’d been on the team before. And sure, Bruno felt less nervous because of that, but Boots had such a resigned look on his face as he patiently explained how serves worked again that Bruno started feeling sad by proxy.

Here were just a sample of the problems, in no particular order:

Sidney Rampulsky had two left feet and couldn’t spike to save his life. He also couldn’t block, receive, or serve. Any time it seemed like gravity was on his side for a minute, the next minute it would shove his face into the shiny wood floor and remind him who was boss.

Elmer Drimsdale kept saying he’d invented an algorithm compiling all Olympic volleyball data from the last fifty years, creating the perfect play for a guaranteed win, but he was also about three feet tall and his glasses kept falling off of his face whenever he tried to block. His second attempt at making his world the volleyball world involved a volleyball cannon and a lot of lubricant. Boots made him their libero instead.

Wilbur Hackenschleimer had the height to be a decent player, but he kept sneaking off every five minutes for snacks and declaring that it was important to keep up with his body’s natural metabolism. That involved a lot of tomato sauce, if the smear across his mouth was any indication.

Chris Talbot just kept drawing the ball on his sketchpad, over and over. Eventually, he got bored with that and drew a picture of Boots spiking the ball. For some reason, he also had dark wings sprouting out of his back. Bruno asked if he could keep that one.

And then there was George Wexford-Smyth III who, as far as Bruno could tell, was mostly just on the phone with his broker.

“Well, Bruno,” Boots said, “how does it feel to be the second-best player on the volleyball team?”

Bruno sighed. “Pretty crappy, old pal,” he replied. Then he resorted to drastic measures, pulling out his phone and sending one desperate text.

Ten minutes later, Diane Grant showed up wearing sweats. She had her hands on her hips and a whistle in her mouth. Cathy Burton sauntered in behind her, holding a spray bottle of water. Bruno didn’t get that one until she started squirting it at anyone on the team who wasn’t currently doing something volleyball-related. George Wexford-Smyth, looking terrified, hung up his phone.

“Our new managers,” Bruno said with a grand gesture. “Ta-da!” He started walking backwards toward the net so they could start up a practice game.

Boots’s eyes sparkled. “What an excellent plan,” he said. “Bruno, I could kiss you.”

Bruno tripped over his own feet and fell flat on his backside. Sidney gave him a sympathetic look. Cathy sprayed him with her water bottle.

*

After practice, Diane told Boots that she had a list of the top hundred things the team had to work on before their first game in two weeks.

“And that’s the edited list,” she added. “Which I edited a _lot_.”

According to Boots, the two of them were staying behind to iron out the details, but Bruno thought trying to iron a bunch of old useless rags was probably a lost cause. But because they were both losing their partners-in-crime, Cathy asked Bruno to come back to Miss Scrimmage’s with her.

“It’s massage and meditation day,” Cathy sing-songed. Bruno loved massage and meditation day; Scrimmage invited the best masseuses from around the province, and meditation involved way more mint chocolate chip ice cream than the name indicated.

They got side-by-side tables and the woman with magic fingers working on Bruno’s back found that adorable. “Couples massage!” she trilled.

Cathy snorted. “Us?” she said. “If we ever get married, it’s just so we can’t be forced to testify against each other in court.”

“That’s a good idea,” Bruno said. “Let’s put that one on the back burner for middle age.”

“Yeah, right, like your husband would ever let you marry me instead,” Cathy said.

Bruno felt a shiver go down his spine, and it wasn’t just down to Helga’s miraculous hands. “Wh— what’s that supposed to mean?” he asked.

“I mean the guy you’re surgically attached to at the hip,” said Cathy. “Does the name Boots O’Neal ring any bells? Captain of the volleyball team and everything else? You know, the person whose ass you stared at any time you were on the back line? I mean, granted, it’s a pretty nice one, but I would have sprayed you with my water bottle if you didn’t receive the ball with your face every time I caught you at it.”

“The important thing is I received, isn’t it?” Bruno said testily. “I only learned the rules of volleyball like three days ago.”

“Well, I just get the feeling there’s something else you’d rather be receiving.”

Bruno and Helga both gasped, scandalized.

“What?” Cathy asked. “Am I wrong?”

Helga took that moment to really dig her fingertips in, releasing a huge knot of tension right between Bruno’s shoulders. What the hell was that about, anyway? Bruno Walton schemed! Bruno Walton plotted! Bruno Walton didn’t tire out his muscles playing sports or stress out over his crush on his best friend.

Only he guessed he did do that now. He let out a groan and hid in the massage table’s face hole so Cathy couldn’t see his expression.

“You’re not wrong,” Bruno muttered eventually.

“Does he know?” Cathy said. She gasped, like something had just occurred to her. “Oh no, did he turn you down? I can’t beat up Boots, he’s like a puppy dog who learned how to walk on his hind legs. I’ll have to get Diane to do it.”

Bruno raised his head again, even though he was pretty sure his face was beet red. “He doesn’t know,” he assured her. “Please don’t make Diane hit him.”

“Okay,” Cathy said. “But you might want to just tell him. It’s like Miss Scrimmage always says, communication is the key that unlocks everyone’s heart.”

“I'll tell him,” said Bruno. “Right after we win a game.”

Cathy groaned. “Oh, come on, Bruno. Be realistic.”

*

The next two weeks were brutal. Diane put everyone on a nutritionally-balanced diet; Wilbur tried protesting, but he calmed down after Diane explained it wasn’t a calorie restriction, just a choice restriction so he could still eat as much as he wanted. Also, Cathy kept spraying him all through Diane’s explanation, so he probably wanted that to stop, too. Boots dialed up strict captain mode to eleven, which Bruno found he was disturbingly into. Whenever anyone had a moment’s free time, they were either practicing or getting through the training menu Boots and Diane had developed together.

“We call it Boots Camp,” Boots told the team, beaming. Cathy and Diane laughed. No one else did.

The team bonded over their shared pain and chose positions to focus on. Bruno learned he was going to be a wing spiker _and_ a starter, which really said a lot about the abysmal status of their team, even with all their strict training.

As for Bruno, he definitely felt like he’d gone insane. Not only did he not quit the first time Boots made him lift a weight, he also agreed to get up with Boots and go on five AM runs. Five AM didn’t even sound like a real time. Five AM was something overcaffeinated kids hallucinated because they hadn’t slept in a week.

Two days before their big match against York Academy, Bruno was in the middle of a great dream where he lived in a world where volleyball didn’t exist and also Boots was shirtless for no reason. Shirtless Boots started whispering, “Wake up, Bruno. It’s time for our run.”

“Why don’t we live somewhere running doesn’t exist, too?” Bruno mumbled in his sleep.

Shirtless Boots laughed and grabbed his shoulder, squeezing it. Then, he said almost too quietly to hear, “Stop being so cute.”

Bruno’s eyes fluttered open. Boots was still there. He wasn’t shirtless, but his face was very close to Bruno’s as he knelt at the side of the bed. Bruno couldn’t help the slow smile that crept across his face at the sight of him, and it was only his Canadian propriety that kept him from asking Boots to crawl into bed next to him.

“Hi,” Bruno said instead.

“Hi,” Boots said back. “You didn’t – um, you didn’t notice anyone talking a minute ago, did you?”

Bruno shook his head, his hair making a _shush shush_ noise against his pillowcase. “Only in my dreams, baby.” He meant for that to come out teasing, but his voice was still gravelly from sleep and it kind of sounded like a come-on.

Boots looked momentarily stunned, then said, “You have the worst morning breath.” Then, he stood up and looked all around the room, focusing on anything that wasn’t Bruno, still in his bed. “Are you ready for our run?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” Bruno said, struggling up onto his elbows. Which, as the run they then went on proved, wasn’t very ready at all.

*

That sense of unready readiness continued into the following Saturday, the day of the big match against York Academy.

York’s side of the stands were crowded with well-wishers and a pep squad and a very aggressive marching band that played sad trombone every time Macdonald Hall changed positions. Macdonald Hall’s side of the stands had The Fish, wearing a suit even on a weekend, and Cathy and Diane, who didn’t even go to their school. This was especially sad because it was a home game.

If this were a movie or some other fictional property, the Hall would have won their volleyball match. The Mac Hall guys were a bunch of scrappy, rough-around-the-edges players but they all had hearts of gold, and the guys from York looked like they were alien visitors from Planet Volleyball. But this wasn’t a movie and Macdonald Hall just plain sucked.

In the second set (after losing the first one, badly), they were down 22-10 when Boots called for a time out.

“You guys are doing great out there,” Boots said encouragingly.

“We’re not,” Wilbur said.

“We’re doomed,” Sidney added gloomily.

“We’re crashing faster than the 1929 stock market,” George put in.

Elmer pushed up his glasses. They slid back down his sweaty nose immediately. “Captain, I know mathematics aren’t your forte, but you do know how to subtract, don’t you?”

“Hey!” Bruno put his hands on his hips and glared at his teammates. “You know what they say, right? It’s not over till it’s over. And we didn’t survive Boots Camp to give up now. So what do you say we support our captain and get out there and do our best, okay?”

“Okay,” Wilbur mumbled. The other guys grunted half-heartedly.

Bruno glared. “I said, let’s do our best, _okay_?” He paused. “Don’t make me get Cathy’s spray bottle.”

“OKAY!” the entire team shouted, other than Boots. Boots, Bruno realized, was staring right at him with his mouth hanging open. He looked like he might be thirsty or hungry or a little confused.

It was a good look on him, and Bruno had to blink several times before he could look away.

Bruno hunched over with his hands on his knees, his favorite plan-hatching position, and made everyone huddle up. "Okay, here's what we do. Wilbur, you're going to be a our wall. Every time York tries to score, I want you in the air and in their faces. Elmer, you use your gigantic chess-club brain to calculate the trajectory of the ball so you can receive it every time it comes your way. Boots, any time you see an opportunity, you set the ball to me and I'll take care of it. Sidney... Sid, you just keep your feet on the floor and your head on your shoulders. Sound good?"

"Perfect," Boots said, so earnestly that the back of Bruno's neck heated up.

The huddle broke up and Macdonald Hall ran back onto the court, more determined than ever.

Ten minutes later, they lost, 25-15. Their three supporters clapped politely for them while York’s crowd cheered so loudly that it made Bruno’s ears hurt. And even though they lost, Boots still pulled him in for a hug afterward. Bruno was so tired and defenseless after a loss that stung more than he could ever let on out loud; he felt himself melting into Boots’s chest immediately, held upright only because of Boots’s strong arms.

“You did so well,” Boots told him, whispering into his ear. “I don’t know what I would have done if you weren’t here.”

“Been fine,” Bruno muttered against Boots’s neck. “You always are without me.”

“No,” Boots said. He pulled back and held Bruno by his biceps, waiting until Bruno looked up and met his gaze. “ _No_ ,” he repeated fiercely. “I’m never fine without you. You’d think you of all people would have realized that by now.”

Bruno stared and swallowed hard.

Then Boots tugged him close again, giving him another tight squeeze. Bruno melted again, though he did yelp and jump backward when Cathy and Diane ran onto the court and patted his ass.

*

“We probably should talk,” Boots said later in their room, after showers and food and a long, blissful recovery nap.

“I’m not quitting the team just because we lost,” Bruno said immediately. “You need a whole season for funding, right?”

“No,” Boots said. “I mean, yes, we do and I’m thrilled you’re not quitting, but this isn’t about that.”

Bruno wrinkled his forehead in confusion, but nodded and shuffled over to make room when Boots climbed onto Bruno’s bed. For some reason, Boots looked very nervous as he picked at a loose thread on Bruno’s bedspread.

“Okay,” Boots said, “I really wasn’t planning on doing this today, but after our match, I realized I had to.”

Bruno tilted his head to one side and looked at Boots’s profile. Even as nervous as he was, it was still a nice profile, though Bruno’s heart really started thumping fast when Boots turned his head to face him. Just like the other morning before their run, their faces were very close together.

Boots took a deep breath. “Bruno, I like you.”

“I like you, too,” Bruno said immediately. Said it unthinkingly. Said it easily, and he didn’t even need a volleyball win to do it.

“No,” Boots said, frustrated. “I know that you like me. I mean that I _like_ like you and have for a long time. Seeing you pump everyone up today made me realize I couldn’t keep that inside anymore or I’d explode.” His shoulders slumped. “I’ll understand if you don’t want to be my roommate anymore.”

“Dummy,” Bruno said. Boots’s eyes widened. “I mean both of us, by the way. I _like_ like you, too. And if you’re not my roommate anymore, it’ll be a lot harder to find places to do this.”

And with that, Bruno slid his hand along Boots’s jaw and leaned in to press their mouths together, finally showing Boots another variation on The Bruno Special.

The third one would have to wait for another time.


End file.
